countryhumans oneshots but they're terrible.

hope and harmony go hand in hand

TW // heavy abuse, blood, mentions of starvation, mention of sexual abuse

The Holy Roman Empire, that dirty narcissist he had to call father, sauntered out of the shed with as much grace and prosperity as possible. He waved his famous sceptre around, now infamous among the three children for littering their backs with scars and bruises, and forcing them to toil for days and days. Prussia turned away, trying to ignore the fact that Netherlands was lying in a puddle of blood, his blood.

"I hope you learned your lesson, you ungrateful child. I didn't want to have to punish you," he said, slamming the wooden door behind him, making the crude shed shake. "But you broke my favorite vase, anyway. I did nothing wrong!" Prussia flinched. He so wanted to throttle Holy, but he couldn't see in this dark. The chains and shackles that clamped down around his wrists prevented him from going, well, anywhere. What time was it anyway? They sat there in the dark for quite a while, only heavy breathing and the shackling of chains filling the silence. Prussia started to pick at a piece of bread out of sheer boredom. "You better save that last piece of food," Confederacy said. He nodded after contemplating for a minute, and pushed the crude bowl away. He had lost his appetite anyway.

How much time he had wasted here? It seemed like he was thrown in just a week ago, but then again it seemed like years had gone by in the blink of an eye.

"How much do you think we'll be getting this month?" his half-sister whispered, trying to reach Netherlands so she could cradle him, to comfort him, even if it was useless. Netherlands had given in to curling up into a ball and rocking himself to sleep, weeping softly.

"With the way he lashed out today, I'd say a few bits of scraps." he replied.

Swiss Confederacy sighed, looking back down at her brother pitifully. "Do we have any bandages?"

"He took them." Prussia reminded her.

"Any cloth?"

"Only our clothes,"

"Let him bleed out then. The infected blood should come out soon."

"No. I-, just, no." He didn't feel comfortable with letting Netherlands drain out his lifeline.

Confederacy shrugged with mock indifference. "What do you suggest we do then?"

"I don't know."

"Then get some ointment. Mariana should have come by now to drop it off. Her potions should stop the bleeding."

"No, I can't."

"Stop being lazy and get the ointment."

"I'm sorry if you're dumb but I can't get them."

"Get the-"

"Mariana is dead!" he half-screamed. Silence. Pure, pure silence. He couldn't take it anymore. He was sick of the screaming and the begging and the crying. He was sick of getting beaten for absolutely no good reason. He was sick of losing his dignity in front of everybody. He was sick of having to work long hours. He was sick of getting starved to death. He was sick of having to cry himself to sleep every night. He was sick of having to obey this, this, disgusting vile piece of trash.

He would tell them that God was punishing them for their sins, but now he didn't even know if there was a God. Why was this God making everyone around him suffer? What had they done to deserve this God's wrath? Why was this God so mean and unforgiving?